Benjamin Hudson Watson-Holmes
by Medusae Aequorea victoria
Summary: John and Sherlock, now married to each other, find an endearing, neglected orphan while they are on a case. Parentlock fluff. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you to my friend Squatchlock for beta-ing and heroic support!

Warning for images of child neglect

* * *

"Jesus, Sherlock, it's a kid!"

John couldn't keep the shock out of his voice as he stared into the corner of the dingy room − the locked door of which Sherlock had just put his shoulder through.

"What?" asked Sherlock, taken by surprise.

John deliberately dropped his voice, "There's child in the corner of the room, Sherlock."

When he'd first noticed something John had thought perhaps it was an animal, a stray of some sort sheltering in the deserted building, but had almost immediately realized it wasn't. Now, he took an involuntary step toward the small cowering figure, instinctively wanting to comfort and protect. But the child was terrified, covering its head and trying to make itself a small as possible, so he stopped, knowing any movement on either of their part would only terrify it further.

He couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl, it was too young or too small, he wasn't sure which, and very dirty.

Sherlock stood still, staring into the corner with an expression that indicated he was thinking rapidly. He had been scanning the room for possible exits when he'd heard John's exclamation and turned.

He now gathered his thoughts and said abruptly, "John, do something, we've got to get out of here."

He then resumed his assessment of their surroundings, his coat whirling in dark circles around his long legs as he moved around the room.

John correctly interpreted this direction to mean that he should manage the child while Sherlock continued to look for an escape route for them, so, as Sherlock left the room to continue his search John took tentative step toward the corner, crouched low and said in a coaxing tone, "Hello, don't be afraid, we want to help you…you need help, right?"

Nothing. If possible the form shrank even more.

"You know what?" he said, trying again, "I'm a doctor and you probably know that doctors help people, right? If you look at me you'll see."

There was a small sound from the child which John took as an indication of progress so he continued gently, "I'm not coming any closer, you'll have to look up if you want to see me."

He was trying to keep the anxiety he felt out of his voice. He knew they didn't have much time before the gang members that he and Sherlock had startled away from the warehouse could return with reinforcements.

As the child's head rose, John realized that he or she had been watching them all along from under one thin arm; wanting to see if and when an attack might come thought John, his heart twisting painfully.

A boy. About 4 years of age John judged.

"Hello," he said again softly, "I'm Dr. Watson." He thought it best to stay with the authority figure approach.

"What is your name?"

The boy didn't look away, he stared at John with no expression on his small face. "Chicken shit," he then said obediently in a small voice.

John winced and had to hide the sudden fierce rage flooding his chest upon hearing that someone would refer to a child in such a way.

He said, "That isn't your real name, is it?"

The boy was silent.

"Well, boys aren't chickens, so I'd like to call you something else. How about a real boy's name? Like Benjamin maybe." It was the first name he could think of, he certainly wasn't going to call the child anything derogatory, even for expediency's sake.

The name seemed to intrigue the boy for he nodded slowly.

John smiled, "Okay, Benjamin, I'd like to help you leave this place, can I do that?"

To John's concern, the boy shrank back into the corner again and whispered, "You won't tell Joe?"

"No, I won't," John promised firmly. But if Joe is the child's caregiver and I have a chance to meet him, I will be telling him a few things while he contemplates the barrel of my service pistol between his eyes, he thought.

At that moment with another whirl of his overcoat Sherlock returned to the room. He stated briefly, "Four men dead in the north hall. Shot."

He'd entered quietly enough, remembering he shouldn't scare the child, but too quickly.

John's quiet voice sounded a warning, "Sherlock."

Sherlock heeded at once, stopping where he stood but at that moment, to both of their surprise the child said in a clearer voice than John had heard so far, "He's not Sherlock, he's Batman."

For a moment there was a startled silence from both men and then…of course! The coat, thought John. He glanced at Sherlock again and saw a look of confusion on his face that would have amused him if it had been under any other circumstance.

Seizing the moment with sudden inspiration, John turned back to the child, "Yes, I just call him Sherlock sometimes, you're right, we should call him Batman. He's here to help you."

At that, the boy scrambled to his feet and made straight for Sherlock who was still standing motionless in the centre of the room.

John made a silent plea to Sherlock to understand and play along… but with no luck. Being Sherlock, he was, unfortunately, deaf to silent pleas of any sort and so did nothing.

The boy stopped short just before he reached Sherlock, suddenly not as sure of himself as he had been a moment earlier.

Before John could speak again, Benjamin's small face crumpled and he sobbed, "They were right; Batman doesn't like chickens, so he doesn't like me!"

Dear God, thought John, as silent tears started to slide down the child's face.

"No, no that's not it at all," he said hastily, "He's just planning what to do next to save us, he's thinking. He does like you…"

John stared at Sherlock as hard as he could, willing him to grasp what the child needed. Then to his amazement, Sherlock did. He lowered into a crouch in front of the boy, the coat draping on either side of his tall frame − just like the bat-cape acknowledged some absent part of John's brain.

The boy stopped crying and looked in wonder at the tall figure reaching to pick him up. Sherlock grasped the child carefully if a little awkwardly but Benjamin settled against him easily, reaching his own thin arms up and around Sherlock's long neck.

Benjamin then looked at John and said, "Alright, I'm ready to go."

John looked quickly at Sherlock's face, suddenly wondering how he was going to manage an unknown, filthy child clinging to his neatly pressed blue silk shirt − the bat-shirt, mused that corner of John's brain which seemed to be taking on a will of its own. Strangers, dirt and children; as far as anyone knew Sherlock disliked all three in equal measure, thought John.

But now Sherlock was returning his look over the child's head with an expression that said, "What?... Shut up! Really John, sometimes I think you don't know me at all."

But aloud all he said was, "Hurry John, there's a door at the end of the hall that looks like it leads to the river and we have to get out of here, now."

With that he turned, strode out the doorway and down the hall with his small bundle clinging to his neck, leaving a surprised John to follow.

Will wonders never cease, thought a bemused John.

The door at the end of the hall, unseen at first glance as it was almost hidden by demolition rubble, did indeed open onto a path by the river so they were able to leave the building unseen. There was no sign of the gang members who had been there just a short time earlier stock-taking a large weapons shipment bound for God-knows-where, but John guessed by the rapid pace Sherlock was setting that he felt they were still in some danger.


	2. Chapter 2

This is a sort of chapter 2a. I'll post 2b tomorrow. I'm glad you are enjoying the story, thank you so much for reading, following and reviewing!

* * *

The late December afternoon darkened quickly making following the tow path difficult. There were stars overhead, actually visible from this part of the city, but not bright enough to provide useful light.

"My name is Benjamin," John heard the boy say conversationally to Sherlock as they made their way along the path.

"An excellent name," Sherlock responded after a short silence but he added nothing further.

Benjamin questioned, "Are you thinking of what to do next to save us?"

There was another short pause before John heard, "A good deduction, Benjamin, very sound reasoning."

This appeared to satisfy the boy who said nothing more. Despite their situation, John found it impossible to hold back a grin.

They moved on at a quick pace until the tow path narrowed and their progress was slowed by increasingly wet and treacherous patches of slippery algae. There had been no exits leading away from the river with which to make their way back to the city and when for the second time Sherlock momentarily lost his footing on the path, John said firmly, "Sherlock we need to find somewhere to stop, it's too dangerous to go on in the dark."

Whether it was because of the child John wasn't sure, but instead of arguing as he might have, Sherlock complied, "Yes, alright, let's try to find somewhere to shelter," and slowed his pace, if only a little.

John then ventured tentatively, "Sherlock, my shoes have better grip, perhaps I should carry Benjamin…"

At this Sherlock slowed up so sharply that John almost ran into him. Without turning he said, "No, John, I'm fine. Also, Benjamin is asleep and if he wakes up he might make a noise that would alert someone that we are here," with which he continued on the path, although at a much slower pace.

It was hard to dispute the logic of this statement, so John, somewhat mystified, followed them again although this time at a careful distance.

It wasn't long before they came to what looked in the faint light available like a disused maintenance shack set back from the path. This time, although it seemed to be with some reluctance, Sherlock did hand the sleeping child to John so he could pick the lock and open the door – which he did in almost complete darkness John noted with admiration.


	3. Chapter 3

"Dr. Watson?" queried a small voice from the darkness between Sherlock and John.

They were resting against the back wall of the shed, having made a slow circuit of the interior using only Sherlock's mobile for light for they had decided it was too risky to use a torch. The back of the shed had been chosen because it was slightly less damp than anywhere else. John had produced a bar of chocolate and offered it to Benjamin who had gulped it down. Too hungry, thought John, anger welling up in his chest once more. There was nothing for the child to drink which concerned him but he couldn't do anything about it for the moment. Sherlock had shed his coat and together they had wrapped and settled Benjamin between them. Sherlock had told him there was no signal when John had enquired about the possibility of calling for assistance. John himself seemed to have lost his mobile somewhere. Bloody hell, he thought distractedly.

"Yes," he answered gently to Benjamin now, flexing his sore shoulder and wondering absently if he was getting too old for this sort of activity.

"Is Batman your friend?"

Suddenly alert, John replied, "Yes, he is, I'm very lucky, he is a good friend."

There was a short silence after this remark, followed by a sad, "I'm not lucky, I don't have a friend."

John responded immediately, "Well, I'll be your friend then, would you like that?"

"Yes," was the quick response.

There was another moment's silence and then, "Does that mean that Batman is my friend too?" came the next hopeful question.

Before John could think of how to answer this he was surprised to hear Sherlock's deep voice rumbling out of the darkness, "Yes, Benjamin, quite right. Very sound logic."

John smiled for the second time that night.

John must have drifted into an exhausted sleep at some point, because the next thing he became aware of was the urgent sense that something was missing that should have been there…Benjamin! The boy, where was he!? And Sherlock? Instantly alert he looked around to find with relief that Sherlock was just across the room where he appeared to be pacing, although not with his usual frenetic energy. He held his coat bundled in his arms containing, John could only assume, Benjamin.

"He had a nightmare and started crying," said Sherlock gruffly, as if felt he had to explain himself. "I didn't want him to wake you."

Then unexpectedly Sherlock gifted John with one of his dazzling smiles; John could see it clearly from across the room even in weak, grey light of a foggy Thames river dawn. The smile was accompanied by a proud, "He's like me John, he prefers motion to stillness. You see? He's sleeping perfectly now."

John grinned. "Like two peas in a pod," he said as he winced and struggled to stand up.

They set out again as soon as it was light enough to see the path.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry Benjamin," asked John. "You know it isn't good for your back to carry a heavy weight for too long."

"John, do stop fussing about my health like someone's maiden aunt. There is nothing wrong with my back," said Sherlock, but it was said in a mild tone.

So as not to wake up Benjamin John thought to himself with an inward smile. The question had been a small test of course, it was becoming clear to John that something momentous had happened to Sherlock when Benjamin had laid his small trusting head on his shoulder just a few hours earlier. But what now John wondered?

Before their marriage he and Sherlock had discussed children, after all John loved children and would have been happy to raise at least a half-dozen of them. But his beloved wasn't as confident. Sherlock, whom John knew to be a deeply nurturing man despite all appearances to the contrary, was as insecure and unsure of himself with children as he was with people in general and had said he was certain he'd be a terrible father. But he had looked sad when he said this and John, whose instincts never failed him, had sensed an underlying longing. Now looking at Sherlock, dishevelled and cold but possessively clutching a filthy child wrapped in his precious overcoat, John recognized paternal love at work even if perhaps Sherlock himself did not. And it might be rare, but when Sherlock loved, it was sudden, powerful and to the death, as John knew only too well. But this was complicated; it wasn't as though they could just keep someone else's child as though he was a homeless kitten or a puppy…


	4. Chapter 4

Finally, they emerged from the river path onto a rundown street. A fine drizzle had started, apparently determined to outdo the fog with its penetrating chill. Early as it was, there were indications of life on the street including a flashing sign not far away proclaiming the diner beneath it to be open, to John's immense relief. He could see that Sherlock was now definitely showing signs of flagging, so he took charge and led their small party to the entrance of the diner. Once inside he selected the nearest banquette and assisted Sherlock to unwrap Benjamin whose bright eyes could be seen from inside the coat (an indication that he had not been asleep for at least some time). Bright eyes indeed thought John, momentarily taken aback by the startling ice-blue of the child's eyes. Remarkable, he thought, that there were actually two humans with eyes that colour. The boy's hair colour was impossible to judge, it lay on his small head in such dirty mats that John looked at Sherlock with alarm.

Sherlock met his eyes and was still for a moment before he looked away and asked the child, "Hungry Benjamin?"

Benjamin nodded and smiled.

A smile as bright as his eyes thought John, even through the layers of dirt. Benjamin sat still while they ordered toast, fruit juice and tea; the quickest items on the menu. The waiter took no notice of them when he took their order and brought their food, for this was the part of town where it was best not to notice anything...

Benjamin stuffed chunks of toast into his small mouth and gulped juice as fast as he could, spilling a great deal of it onto Sherlock beside him. John was opening his mouth to say something to him when he caught Sherlock's eye and shut it again.

Of course, Sherlock's right, table manners are the least of the child's worries right now he thought and silently thanked Sherlock who acknowledged this with his characteristic half-smile. John then sat back to observe Sherlock, unobtrusively he hoped, from behind the rim of his tea mug.

Sherlock was distracted by tearing toast into small bits so Benjamin wouldn't choke as he shoved more into his mouth. Sherlock's riotous curls looked much the same as usual John noted with amusement, his suit however was quite unrecognizable from the day before and utterly ruined. The shirt too, thought John with concern, Sherlock always liked to maintain a neat appearance.…

Sherlock, fully aware of John's scrutiny, of course, caught his eye and gave John one of his most flirtatious, the-name-is-Sherlock-Holmes, winks.

Un-bloody believable thought John, completely overcome with a sudden wave of love, this man will never cease to amaze me.

"We should call Lestrade now," said John. This was after it appeared that Benjamin could accommodate no more toast or fruit juice.

Sherlock, once more not looking at John said, "There's no rush is there?"

There was a moment's silence at this before John said slowly, "I'll do it".

He got up and made his way to the counter to ask for the diner's phone. for Sherlock had said his mobile battery was now dead and John's own phone was still missing. He looked back at Sherlock, his rumpled dark head was bent easily toward the child, conversing about something, but his broad shoulders were tense.

It wasn't long before Lestrade, for once without his usual entourage of officers and squad cars, pulled up in an unmarked vehicle down the street from the diner. John quickly paid the bill while Sherlock once more wrapped up Benjamin in his coat. They waited outside while Lestrade, accompanied by a frazzled looking woman whom John judged to be a social worker, approached.

They were exchanging greetings when suddenly John was set on high alert…something was wrong….he turned to look at Sherlock and stared, stunned. Sherlock, who had said nothing at Lestrade's arrival, was standing, still clutching the boy in his coat, but with a look of surprised, confused panic on his face. His mouth was starting to turn downward with a slight tremble and he was looking at John in mute distress.

John had seen this expression on Sherlock's face only very occasionally. It appeared at those rare times when Sherlock was taken by surprise and overwhelmed by his own strong emotions. The last time John had seen the look…his expression softened as he glanced down involuntarily to the wedding ring on his left hand.

But what was happening now? Maybe he's ill or perhaps its hypothermia thought John wildly. Then he understood − not hypothermia but the social worker. Sherlock, having realized that he wanted to keep the boy hadn't anticipated the demand to give him up would be so immediate. John mentally kicked himself for not letting Sherlock know in advance that Lestrade would likely bring someone from the Child Protection Authority to take the boy into care. If he had thought to tell Sherlock, then there might have been time for them to talk about it…

Making a quick decision, John stepped in front of Sherlock and the boy and, with as much dignity as he could muster for having spent the previous night on the floor of a damp shed, he announced in what he hoped was a learned medical manner, "Thank you for coming. I have a suggestion; the child is traumatized from treatment that he received prior to our finding him as well as the frightening escape from the warehouse."

Benjamin, try not to look so contented hugging Sherlock's neck he thought.

"Therefore," he continued gravely, "it's my professional opinion that we should discuss his care in private. He has bonded with Sherlock during the last 24 hours, so I recommend that it is in his immediate best interests, if Sherlock agrees, that he continue to supervise the child while we discuss next steps."

By the end of this speech, Lestrade's expression had begun to resemble something like Sherlock's; surprise and confusion but without the panic.

The social worker said, "Yes, of course," as John had expected she would.

So with a casual glance back at Sherlock, who had recovered some of his composure, but not much John noted, he turned to Lestrade in an expectant manner. Quickly closing his mouth, which had fallen open during John's speech, Lestrade recovered himself enough to indicate courteously that they could sit in his vehicle to talk.

"Well, there are no spaces right now," the social worker said in answer to John's inquiry, "but he will be fine at the office, it will be 48 hours at most, by that time we will have found temporary placement for him with one of our emergency caregivers. If no family is located and when a space is available, he can then go into temporary shelter care and after that we will get him into the foster care system, but of course that takes time."

Even she sounded doubtful about this and by now Lestrade, the loving father of four children was well-and-truly starting to look like Sherlock, the panic included and John didn't feel much better.

He heard himself ask, "How long does it take for a couple to become qualified to provide emergency care for a child-in-need?" He continued, "I'm a family physician and my partner is…" Ummm, best not to mention that, he thought quickly and started again, "The Holmes family is a well-known and respected one; my partner's brother is Sir Mycroft Holmes…" Any port in a storm, he thought, grateful for the first time ever for Mycroft's existence (but Uncle Mycroft…? said the increasingly troublesome voice at the back of John's brain, is that really fair to the child?)

He mentally shook himself and continued, "I'm sure that DI Lestrade will vouch for my partner's and my character," he said, looking hopefully at Lestrade. "Is there any possibility that we could look after the child in the short-term? Only temporarily, of course."

Lestrade's mouth had fallen open once again and his expression said something like, "What the hell are you are saying? Have you gone completely mad?"

"No," said John back silently, "just work with me on this…please?"

However, before Lestrade could speak aloud, the social worker said, "No, I'm afraid that's not possible." She added vaguely, "There are rules, he will have to come with me now, but don't worry he will receive the best of care."

John sighed, he very much doubted this, but there was nothing more he could do for the moment.

As they exited the vehicle the rain began to pound down in earnest. Looking for Sherlock and Benjamin, John spotted them across the street apparently deep in conversation about something (the optimal placement of sewer drainage emergency discharge overflows to reduce the risk of urban flooding, Sherlock had informed him later). But just then, as Sherlock saw them and John read the expression on his face, he quailed inwardly. Oh dear God he thought, watching Sherlock's approach, this may not go well.

Sherlock moved toward them slowly. Benjamin couldn't be seen inside the coat although he could be heard; now chatting happily having had his meal and drink and also presumably feeling relatively dry and warm. He must be getting oxygen under there somehow or he wouldn't still be speaking thought John.

The same could not be said for Sherlock. Clearly no longer confused or surprised, he was filthy, soaked to the skin and wearing his grimmest expression. Unfortunately, Doris, for that was the social worker's name, didn't appear to notice, being distracted by the rain and intent on getting back to her ever-growing caseload.

She said, without actually looking at Sherlock, "Thank you sir, both of you, for assisting the child, not many people are so responsible, and now if you'd like to just hand him to me, I'll take him into care."

Sherlock had drawn to a halt in front of them as she finished speaking. John glared at him and silently ordered, "For God's sake if you want the boy, don't cause a scene. Threaten a social worker and you will never be allowed to see him again!"

Sherlock may actually have heard John's silent order for once because, after a long moment of what appeared to be deep thought, during which he bent his free arm to study his cuticles intently, he fixed a cold stare in the middle-distance somewhere over Doris's left shoulder and said in a deceptively expressionless tone, "No."

Well, that could have been worse thought John, cautiously optimistic.

But before any of them could say anything further, Benjamin's head emerged from Sherlock's coat, wondering, no doubt, why Sherlock's deep voice was no longer rumbling soothingly in his ear. He took one look at the social worker and Lestrade and, knowing with his child's intuition that something was going badly wrong, screamed shrilly and dove back into the safe haven of Sherlock's coat. John and Sherlock both recoiled at the heart-wrenching sound.

Sherlock gripped Benjamin closer, covered him once more with his coat and said something firm that sounded like, "They won't be taking you anywhere. Calm down." Then, mindful of John's silent warning, he said nothing further, instead settling for fixing Doris with a flinty stare. The scream had quickly subsided under Sherlock's reassurance, but muffled sobbing could be heard; which for John and evidently for Sherlock as well, was just as heart-wrenching for they both remained quite pale.

For the first time Doris, by now paying full attention to the situation, looked uncertain. Lestrade, quick to understand children and increasingly, as time went by, to understand Sherlock, sized up the situation (there would be time for incredulity to set in later), and said to Doris, whom he had known for many years and respected, "Dor, I know you've already got a long list of unwanted children and the boys here want to take care of the child, obviously he's bonded with them as Dr. Watson says and after what the kid's been through….."

He paused and said, "He'll get all the special care he needs, I'm certain of that. I've known Mr. Holmes for close to ten years now and Dr. Watson for at least five. If you might consider bending the rules just for a few hours, we can take care of the paperwork…remember the Claxton kids? Something like what you were able to do on that file perhaps…?" he let his voice trail off.

Trying not to look menacing but failing at it, Sherlock stayed silent. John, also silent, thanked God for Lestrade and held his breath.

Doris, who really was a kind woman as it turned out, if always short of time, quickly summed up the situation herself and nodded in agreement. There was an audible sigh of relief from John and Lestrade, Sherlock's shoulders relaxed slightly and the muffled sobbing inside the coat quieted.

"Alright then," said Lestrade with a smile at Doris, "Let's get this lot to the hospital to get checked out, shall we?"

In the rear seat of Lestrade's vehicle with Benjamin, tired once more, resting between him and John, Sherlock pulled out his mobile and began a rapid text to Mrs. Hudson. As he did so, continuing to text with one hand, he reached into his pocket again, pulled out John's mobile and handed it to him. Tired and confused, John spluttered, "Bloody hell, Sherlock!"

"Language, John," reproved Sherlock without looking up but the half-smile made another fleeting appearance. Suddenly amused, but not wanting to give Sherlock any encouragement, John turned to the window.

Then he turned back at a sudden thought, "Mrs. Hudson…" he began.

"…loves children," finished Sherlock.

And that she does, thought John.

* * *

Three years later.

The door of 221 B was flung open, startling John so he almost banged his head on an open cupboard door. It was Ben returning from school, making his usual enthusiastic entrance to the flat. Either one of or both Sherlock and John would have walked him home from school except that Mrs. Hudson insisted that she be the one to meet him most days "…because I hardly get to see the dear boy otherwise..." This statement was glaringly false but Sherlock and John had both learned the futility of trying to dispute it.

"Dad! Guess what?"

"What?" asked John and Sherlock in unison.

Ben took no notice of this; it was part of the daily ritual. He continued with eager excitement, "I got a 'B+' on my science test!"

He was still struggling to catch up with his peers in school due to his rough early start in life. His teachers assured them that he would be fine; it would just take time.

Sherlock rose immediately from where he'd been looking into his microscope while John made tea and lifted the boy high into the air; whirling in several circles as he did so (Ben had stayed a slight child, despite eating as much food as John could stuff into him). Sherlock, pride glowing in his face exclaimed, "Benjamin! That's brilliant!" Than, holding the boy close to his chest, he looked at John across Ben's sandy coloured head, neat with the exception of a couple of unruly tufts, with an expression of such tenderness that John, his throat suddenly too constricted to speak, could only smile and nod.


	5. Epilogue

Epilogue

Ben's father, Joe, had been one of the four men killed at the warehouse. The boy had been in the care of a grandmother until she died when he was almost age three, at which time he had gone with his father. No other relatives were found. The adoption process had been lengthy but relatively smooth, thanks in large part to Doris's efforts.

Mrs. Hudson, to no one's surprise was beside herself with joy over Ben's arrival; smothering him with affection (and food). He took it in good part always happy to trot downstairs to her suite when his fathers were called out on short notice. This occurred less often than before, because Sherlock especially, disliked leaving Ben for any length of time.

"He's fine with Mrs. H," John would say reassuringly, to which Sherlock would respond, "Hmmmm. I thought he was a bit quiet at breakfast this morning. We'd better get back to check on him, just to make sure."

Mycroft eventually unbent enough to announce, on one of his infrequent visits to the flat, that there had been a great-uncle Benjamin in the family who had been a noted theologian. Sherlock, about to emit a derisive snort at this, hadn't, after catching John's eye. Mycroft, disconcerted by his brother's unusual reticence was temporarily silent. Ben had smiled politely and moved a little closer to Sherlock on the sofa. Uncle Greg was by far the favourite.

For the most part, they found the outcome was better for everyone if John did the talking at parent−teacher interviews. Not that this made a great amount of difference for a silent Sherlock could be as intimidating as a talking one, if not more so. There had been one notable occasion however, when a school principal had unguardedly made the comment that they should not expect a great deal, as "…children like Ben, usually didn't amount to much".

As John's right hand had bunched into a fist, Sherlock had stepped in with a coldly dismissive "Yes, thank you for your input," before turning John to the door (here it was Sherlock's turn to thank God, this time for the handgun being safely locked in a gun-case back at the flat, rather than easily accessible under John's jacket). They'd finally decided on a small neighbourhood school where Ben had settled in nicely.

Ben was a happy child, although initially he had been withdrawn at times and prone to nightmares. But these episodes became less frequent over time under the loving care of his two fathers. He was firm friends with Lestrade's youngest son, who was only a year older than himself and who had Lestrade's kind and easy-going nature. He was protective of Ben and well able to ensure that no one bothered his younger friend.

Life was good at 221 B Baker Street.


End file.
